After The Fight
by nomoremyfriends
Summary: Darren is Batman. What more do you want?  This was just a short prompt one that I wanted to post up so others could bask in my nerdy glory.  Hey, if anyone liked it and encouraged me enough, I would totally make a proper fiction out of it.


So it's not 'Blaine', but I could totally write a different version in the Glee universe.

Artie would be Lucius Fox, and Kurt would be Robin... Yeah. I've thought this through.

Anyway. Feedback appreciated, because I'm tempted to write more.

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><p>The sound of the all too familiar crime-fighting vehicle's engine drew to a close as the driver pulled the keys out. The batmobile was an awfully cheesy name, considering, but he couldn't help it - he just loved that sort of thing. The rotating platform clicked into place as he heaved himself out of the car, limbs aching.<p>

"I trust you were successful, sir," echoed a rather eloquent, very English voice from across the room. In all honesty, it wasn't really a room, with the cavernous ceiling and walls that resided beneath the rich man's mansion being nothing less than a cave. The batcave, of course.

With a nod, a raspy voice vibrated from the man who was now making his way towards the butler with a slight limp, "No doubt the news is drowning in the story." It was then that the man reached back and disconnected the bat-like mask he was adorned with, and peeled it back from his head. Loose brown curls fell free, though they were usually unruly, tonight they were slightly out of place, stuck together with sweat which had since grown stale and cold. With a sigh, the man with rich brown eyes dropped to the nearest chair and got to work at removing his custom made armor, uncovering his legs first.

"There's no need for that voice any longer, Mr Criss," the butler reminded him, pulling off his gloves, and applying himself to retrieving the damaged and dirty pieces of armor which had begun to litter the floor.

With a splutter, Darren wiped his jaw vertically, his hand running across the faint stubble, and replacing the small amount of grime with new streaks. "Right," he coughed, adjusting his voice back to normal, "Obviously." Hissing a little at the movement of his ribs, he gritted his teeth and pulled back at the undershirt he was wearing, removing it. His whole Batman facade was incredibly tiring, but more than worth it. Tonight he'd apprehended The Riddler once again, after eventually growing tired of the endless puzzles he threw at him. They were actually mildly entertaining, and Darren enjoyed the challenge, but as soon as the safety of others was brought into the equation, the fun was over.

Glancing down, he could see that his ribcage was already coloured with bruises, but he guessed that was what happened when you faced twenty odd men at once. Batman's battles always seemed incredibly out numbered, but Darren supposed that was what you got for standing up in a corrupted city.

Cuts littered the young man's body, accompanying the scars in various shapes and sizes which decorated his tan skin. Letting out a shaky breath, Darren turned his attention to the sizable gash in his leg, running a hand through his hair and freeing the curls from one another slightly.

Alfred, his butler, was well trained in medical procedures, but had left the cave, with both of them knowing it bugged Darren whenever he wasn't fully in control of his situation. So he kicked the wheeled chair back with his good leg, stopping at the nearby electrical controls, and leaning down to the drawers, pulling out a first aid kit. It was pretty standard issue, with your disinfectant wipes, adhesive bandages and such, but this kit was customized slightly. He'd stocked it with sterile needles, wound wash and other supplies geared towards more serious injuries.

Pulling out the antiseptic wash, Darren clamped his eyes shut and gulped, taking a deep breath and then cleaning his leg. He almost let out a yelp, as it stung, but knew better, having grown to hide his weaknesses, and instead let out a groan in pain. The liquid splashed to the natural floor, having changed from it's original, clear state, to a slightly red, murky mixture and his bare leg was left with a few streaks, where sweat and bloody residue had been washed away. Darren leant back in the seat, breathing heavily as he slid the bottle across the control system beside him to free his hands, which he then ran across his cheeks and tangled in his hair. You'd have thought he'd grow a bit more resistant to pain after all this time, but it was always the repairing that hurt most, in his opinion. Pushing out another deep breath, Darren adjusted himself in the seat and unwrapped a surgical suture and tweezers, mentally preparing himself for the following ordeal.

It took about half an hour for him to finish up on his leg, and once he had, Darren let out a satisfied 'mmm' sound, his leg throbbing, but feeling considerably cleaner. "Time for a shower," he decided aloud, nudging the packaging that cluttered the floor around him aside and pulling himself to his feet, feeling grimy, sweaty and battered, yet accomplished.


End file.
